POW
by A. Christian
Summary: Sam leaps into Lieutenant Albert Calavicci as a prisoner of war in Vietnam and discovers a terrible secret about the Observer's past.
1. Prologue and Chapter 1

Quantum Leap: P

Quantum Leap: P.O.W.

PROLOGUE

Home. That was such a beautiful word. How he longed each moment of every life he inhabited to someday be allowed to return home and enjoy the endless possibilities of freedom. Just four simple letters yet they contained the power to give Doctor Samuel Beckett the ability to press on. Home.

Except that deep in his soul he felt that it wasn't correct; something in time was not yet complete.

He relaxed as the bluish-white electrical light swelled from his pores and enveloped his being into the position of a new assignment, in a new body and time. Sam heard the distant voice whisper in his mind in its calm yet firm tones: "Put right what once went wrong."

Sounds were near his ears, voices shouting out sentences of profanity and utterly blank confusion. Deep voices, Sam concluded. Probably men's. He wondered if the anger were directed at him and if so, was there a means of escape if the current situation became hostile.

Sam's right bicep was struck with a shooting pain as some outside pressure suddenly clenched its flesh. A hand, he concluded, had a tight grip onto his arm considering he was able to distinctly feel five separate, smaller pressures all forming one incredibly firm squeeze. Fingers, Sam knew.

"I'll teach ya to talk back to me, maggot!" a gruff voice shouted in his ear, immediately followed by a sharp, hardened point being slammed into his spinal cord. The impact caused Sam to fall to the ground in his new body. When he hit, nothing he would have optioned for broke his fall.

Oh boy, where the hell am I? he wondered.

A faint smell of urine wafted up through Sam's nostrils as he sat hunched over on his knees with both hands digging into the semi-dried mud. Lush green bushes with leaves that probably would have been more acceptable in the Prehistoric era seemed to rise an eternity on either side of him. The immensely rich blue sky held dozens of large billowy clouds which gave off a feeling of sincerity, of peace and calm. Sam wanted to be there.

The voice muttered some kind of command and Sam shook. He was utterly terrified of this assignment already. Next to the unbelievable pain, the backache and his host's weariness plus the sweat drenching his one-piece black outfit, Sam wasn't too surprised to see he was handcuffed. Two heavy iron shackles clamped around each wrist and connected them with a short, thick, rusty chain. From the center of this shorter chain, another chain led forward and captivated another black-clothed prisoner standing about five feet ahead of Sam. The man had his back to Sam but Sam noticed his head hanging so low it looked like it might just fall off. He too was connected to more prisoners in front of him. All heads were down. Each one plus two armed soldiers (soldiers?) were no doubt impatient with Sam's unsuccessful performance.

"Are ya deaf, maggot? Get up!" the angry voice shouted above and behind him. A foot landed in his behind.

Sam sucked in a lungful of fresh air and eased himself up to a standing position. The second chain, the one connecting the prisoners, was yanked behind him and he nearly fell over backward. He would have, too, if it hadn't been for that hard object being pressed into his aching back to break the fall.

"The next word out of your mouth, maggot, is gonna be your last," the angry man said. Sam noted an accent he couldn't quite place. "Now get moving."

Doctor Samuel Beckett, quantum physicist and time traveler extraordinaire, allowed himself to be led by the other prisoners. Through gaps in the bushes, Sam could see mountains on the horizon, some spitting up centuries of volcanic ash. The blue skies grew steadily darker and Sam noticed they were walking into the setting sun. The fluffy clouds overhead gave off a brilliant orange radiance with touches of yellow, blue and half a dozen shades of red. The sight made him think of Al and wonder where in heaven's name he was, anyway.

As the sun sank deeper the feeling of returning home came back to him and he was suddenly aware of a most horrible thought: he was homesick. What if he never made it home? Would God or Fate or Time or Chance or Whoever was Leaping him around be cruel enough to keep him as a prisoner of history forever? He wished desperately for at least a little bit of his own life, such as his address or maybe even a favorite food.

The clouds overhead had now turned a dark grey with the sky outlined by their presence and still Sam and his "comrades" kept walking. The weight of the shackles steadily added to his physical pain and Sam found himself leaning over more and more with each step. He felt if he didn't get rest soon, he'd probably die.

As if in answer to his prayers, the horizon revealed some lights. Oh thank you, Sam smiled as he straightened up. His muscles screamed for a nice warm bed with a deep, soft pillow. Hell, he would have settled for a hammock by this time. Anything except what he was about to end up with.

Coming closer, he saw five small bamboo-made shacks, each with a lantern inside. Sam smiled even more when they were led into one of them.

His body scolded him for his happy thoughts when there wasn't even a sheet in view. Instead the prisoners (four in all, including Sam) were forced to stop while they were unshackled and checked in. I wonder if they'll call names, Sam hoped. No such luck.

Afterwards they were led down a short flight of stairs and introduced to their rooms; the whole escapade was overseen by their captors. Sam didn't dare make any kind of a sudden move. He just wanted rest.

Right now.

Sam nearly jumped for joy when a soldier motioned him into his room. His body wanted rest so bad he had to fight to restrain his legs from moving too fast. If he hadn't seen the other prisoners duck before entering their rooms he would have slammed his head into the concrete wall.

Sam couldn't have been any more disappointed when the iron bars slammed him home. The only light was the moonlight and looking up he saw he had no roof. Just bars. Hunching over, Sam observed the concrete cell to be no more than five feet tall and not nearly wide enough to stretch his screaming muscles without hitting the walls. And the cell was bone-dry of any type of bed.

"Oh, great," he concluded.

With his back screaming in agony and dripping in his own sweat from the heat/humidity of this wild jungle, he sat-squeezed into one of the corners. He pleaded with Sir Time over and over to please oh please be removed from this Leap. He didn't even want to find out what needed to be done and do it so he could Leap then.

He wanted out now.

Right now.

As his weary mind eventually drifted him off to sleep, he wondered where Al was and what the hell was taking him so long anyway.

CHAPTER ONE

A single, young, attractive woman glided over Al's vision. Big kazooms; no husband; no trouble. None whatsoever. She was his.

All his.

"Admiral," she spoke in culinary tones. Sexy, yet strangely familiar.

"Admiral," she spoke to him again.

No, he would not listen; didn't want to. It was the voice of trouble. Memories from past experiences told him so.

"Admiral!" The voice was growing impatient now, demanding his attention.

Albert Calavicci slowly opened his eyes in a dark place. For a few moments he feared he was still missing in action in Vietnam, locked in a cage like some kind of wild animal too small to stand up in and too narrow to spread his arms apart like a free bird without touching the cold, damp walls. His heart raced as he feared that the last thirty years may have only been a longing dream for freedom, a desperate plea to someday return to the arms of his one true love. The only thing in the entire world that had kept him alive and sane in that personal hell.

Beth was his sole reason for fighting to survive in Vietnam.

He was back in Vietnam, tortured and beaten by his captors for six eternal years, being forced to live on weevil-infested rice and rainwater. The fading images of his wife Beth called to him night after endless night, beckoning for him to come home.

"Admiral."

But he wasn't an admiral yet; only a lieutenant, crash-landing his A-4 after being shot down somewhere over the highlands of Vietnam. He was kept as a prisoner of this dreaded war for six years, tortured and…

"Admiral Calavicci!"

The sultry voice of Ziggy brought him back to reality. Good ol', faithful, sometimes annoying Ziggy.

As Al reached over and flipped on the night lamp, memories came flooding back into his consciousness. He was Albert Calavicci, two-star rear admiral for the United States Navy, assigned on a voluntary basis to receive funding for Project Quantum Leap. It wasn't easy, considering he'd have to book a flight back to Washington every year and occasionally more, but at least he had a lot of connections with a lot of important people.

Sam Beckett had discovered a great person in him.

Al wanted to return the favor.

Quantum Leap was Sam's dream, his brainchild. He wasn't able to receive any fundable support to make it a reality. Al saw his chance.

He had leaped at the opportunity.

Now, appearing to his friend in various situations in the past as a hologram, he steadily grew tired of seeing Sam fixing so many lives. It wasn't as though he were selfish, no. Sam's helped to change many, many lives for the better. Al just wanted Sam home. He wanted to shake his friend's hand, smile and say, "Well done, Sam." He longed for that day, pleaded with some unseen force that it would be in his lifetime. Surely Father Time had to relent to that someday.

As soon as he had regained full consciousness, Al glanced at the ceiling and asked Ziggy what the matter was.

"Dr. Beckett has leaped into a new assignment," was her reply.

"Oky doke," he said, running a hand across his sweaty face and getting to his feet.

"Admiral?" the ceiling asked.

"Ye-es?" Al responded, sliding his eyes upward.

"Dr. Beeks has requested a private meeting with you in her office."

Al suddenly felt like a schoolboy who has just gotten called to the principal's office. "Oh goody, there's good news," he responded with a little too much sarcasm in his voice. He walked over to his closet while glancing at the empty space in his bed where Tina had been less than an hour ago. Love Satisfier, Pulse Communications Technician, Ultimate Goddess. Was there anything she didn't do?

Al slid the closet open and saw a rainbow of colors. His outfits had a tendency to clash with the background of Sam's leaps. Red suspenders, blue slacks, yellow slacks, purple slacks, navy blue silk shirts inlaid with silver threading, silver jackets to name a few. There was even a pair of red silk pajamas for those "special nights." Then his eyes fell on his most prized suit, his own pride and joy.

A memory of Vietnam suddenly resurfaced: the physical pain of being beaten to a state of total numbness; the emotional agony of finally returning home to the woman who had called to him for so long only to discover she had gotten remarried. And to a nozzle lawyer!

Beth had had her husband declared dead and married a man named Dirk Simon.

He had only been a lieutenant then; any other rank above him was a horse's ass.

Al was an admiral now and yet he didn't quite feel like a horse's ass. Instead he felt sort of important. Though he didn't think any of his ex-wives would agree.

"Women," he said with a chuckle. Oh well.

Al stared at his favorite outfit, a bleached white Naval Officer's uniform with its array of medals and honors amidst a box of Crayolas.

"Admiral Calavicci, that's me," he added with a slight nod and decided that's what he should wear. After changing he headed off to the Control Room and his first holographic meeting with Sam.

Following his physical meeting with the Project's own principal.

He prayed this one would be faster.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

Of course Al knew any call to a principal's office rarely ever meant anything he would want to discuss; voluntarily anyway.

Sliding his thumb across the security pad and being cleared to enter the nerve center of the entire project, Al braced himself for the inevitable as the door slid open and revealed the next best thing compared to a shopping mall on Christmas Eve.

The first few hours of any leap were usually the most exciting. Locating Sam's position in time and space right down to the exact nano-second as well as discovering whomever he'd leaped into played an important role in the routine. Also required was to retrieve bits and pieces from the Project's Archives while comparing them to any recent changes Sam made during an earlier leap; if it was to affect his current activities in any way. On a few occasions when Sam had changed the future for the better for one person it may not have been so good for another and things could have gotten ugly if that person (or persons) happened to hold a grudge. Unfortunately, Sam was unable to help every single person in every single leap.

Discussions with the one in the Waiting Room, whomever Sam had traded places with, usually brought an answer to many questions regarding Sam's missions about what needed to be "fixed," though no one was allowed in there without the physical presence of Dr. Verbena Beeks. "That person may suffer some serious side effects or emotional stress if something was to slip out about time-traveling into the future," the Project's Head Psychiatrist had once said, "and I should be there to monitor all conversations." However, this rule was very flexible.

Head Programmer and bad-breath extraordinaire Gushie was standing just a tad too close to Tina, who undoubtedly was doing it on purpose. Again. Al knew Tina allowed Gushie that close to her only to make him jealous and dammit, it was working. What he never could figure out was how she could tolerate the man's halitosis for such long periods of time. She either had a longitated sinus condition herself or perhaps felt more at ease with someone who was the tiniest bit absent-minded and more like her. Al made a mental note to try and please her socially-interactive appetite for adventure.

Al was just noticing Donna's absence when he heard an all-too-familiar voice call out his name.

Admiral, he had the urge to say but held it back.

He turned to face his principal. "Why, good morning, Verbena. You're looking as lovely as ever," he spoke a little too loudly, giving her a wink. He cast an eye over to Tina who still hadn't seemed to realize he was even here.

Verbena dropped her head and blushed. "Thanks, Al." Al smiled at the revelation. No woman ever could resist the old Calavicci charm. It ran in his family probably since the beginning of time itself; no wonder so many women had found him so cute, charming and irresistible.

"Could we talk in my office, Al?" Verbena asked, straightening her slightly-wrinkled sash. Al wondered if she had slept at all last night.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied like an obedient schoolboy and followed her in her office.

Taking his usual spot on the soft, inviting leather sofa, he asked Verbena if she didn't know where Donna was.

"Oh, she took a flight to Phoenix late last night. Jamie Lee and her husband took care of some business in L.A. and decided to visit with Donna. You know, they're old college friends.

"Coffee, Al?" Verbena offered.

"Yes, please. Sugar, no cream." Ah, Jamie Lee, Al remembered. A woman who once had an eye for an older unshaven English professor with an alcohol problem ended up marrying a former Neanderthal football jock. One of Sam's many missions.

Verbena handed him his coffee in one of her yellow "Put On A Happy Face!" coffee mugs and told Al that she wanted to discuss Sam's current leap with him first.

"So what's the deal?" Al asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"He's leaped into you," Verbena boldly stated.

Al nearly choked on the last swallow as her words hit home like a thunderclap in this still, barren desert. He tried deep-breathing to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"Sam's leaped into you again," Verbena repeated, offering him a napkin. "Sorry to spring it on you like that."

"No Problem-O, Doc," Al reassured her. "I'd just like a little warning, that's all."

"I'll keep that in mind for my next sentence," Verbena promised.

"Why?" Al asked, preparing himself for the Big One.

"Because Sam's leaped into you as a prisoner in Vietnam."

Well, there it was. The reason why she wanted to see me, Al thought. He could feel his heart thudding as he remembered the terrible nightmare Ziggy had awakened him from earlier. That was only a dream, right? It had seemed so real, so intense and live. Had he actually traveled back through time and relived that part of his life, a part he wanted so desperately to forget? Considering where he was, Al knew it wasn't entirely at all impossible.

Of course it had been just a dream, he assured himself. It had only seemed real because it had been real at one time. Except now it was real for Sam. Ironic that I should dream it now, Al wondered.

Sam Beckett was experiencing first-hand the agony and torment Al had barely survived himself. He forced himself not to think about what Sam was even supposed to do this time.

What could anyone do to better the future as a prisoner of war?

His best friend, locked in a cage no taller for one to stand in, laughed at and mocked by the eyes of his captors for six…

"What's the date?" Al suddenly blurted out, realizing he had just interrupted Verbena's verbal insights on the emotional strategy of this leap.

Verbena referred to her clipboard and replied, "April, 1970. The sixth, to be precise."

Al closed his eyes and breathed heavily. "What's Ziggy say?"

"Al, if you're feeling some repressed emotion, maybe…" Verbena started.

"Just tell me what Ziggy's saying for now, please," Al calmly repeated. The last thing he wanted to talk about was repressed emotions.

After a few uneasy moments, Verbena sighed silently and said, "Ziggy's not sure yet," she rolled her eyes – so what else is new? – "but she thinks it may have some small role in Operation Lazarus."

Al's eyes snapped open. "The Navy SEAL attack?"

"Yes."

"How's he gonna do that when he's…" Al's eyes drifted upward as his sentence died. More memories resurfaced just then.

"He's with them, isn't he?" Al asked in a more fact tone.

"Yes," Verbena said again as she locked on right away as to what Al meant. "Archives is uploading everything they have on that leap as we speak."

It was Vietnam all over again. There was no way he was ever going to be truly free from it. He wished desperately to pull out a cigar, light up and momentarily forget about the world. The smell of the tobacco, the feel of the fumes as they filled his lungs with each inhalation relaxed him so and they all forbade him to smoke within the complex. "It isn't healthy for Ziggy's consoles," they whined at him, which stretched for miles in the cavern. But as far as Al was concerned, Ziggy's "consoles" weren't technically inside the Imaging Chamber. And Al always had a cigar in there.

Al wanted to go see Sam now.

Al wanted Sam to come home now.

Al still recalled Vietnam; the prehistoric jungle, the tall, sharp grass that scratched at any exposed skin it could reach and cut it open, the iron shackles that weighed him down, a flash behind him…

The memory overlapped another one, something different. It featured a young blonde woman flashing a camera at him and he knew what it was: Sam.

Sam had changed history before, only to have photojournalist Maggie Dawson killed in action. But not before she had snapped a Pulitzer Prize winning photograph of him and…Oh God, Al thought.

He was brought back to reality by the scolding of his left leg for his carelessness with the cup of coffee.

"Oh, Al," Verbena shrieked. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. I'll live," he shrugged. At least now he had an excuse to leave.

Verbena eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure you're all right?" Al knew she was obviously implying a deeper subject.

Al ignored it anyway. "Verbena, I'll go change then I'd better get to Sam. I have a feeling he's not going to be a happy camper for leaping into a prison cell." Prison hole, he almost said. He got up and handed Verbena her coffee mug. "But I did learn a valuable lesson today."

Verbena raised her eyebrows. "What's that?" she asked curiously.

"Never drink coffee when Sam leaps into me," he said, listening to her chuckle as he left.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

A half hour later Al was redressed, having changed into an incredibly bright orange polyester shirt floating with white triangles and black squares and blue circles. His white slacks seemed to illuminate his journey down the partially-unfinished corridors of Project Quantum Leap.

Well, at least I could go jogging at night, he chuckled silently. Al had desperately been trying to avoid thinking of Vietnam. That and the fact he was dawdling joyously delayed his pending holographic meeting with Sam and facing the memories again. Fortunately no one had seemed to notice. Yet. As it crossed his mind now, however, Al almost wished someone had asked him about the agony and torment he had gone through, both physically and emotionally. He was scared; no, frightened of what he might see. What horrible forgotten memories might resurface and replace the ones which already had? Even worse, he was terrified of those memories yet to be born if Sam made even the slightest of changes.

Al slid his right thumb across the flat security pad and after again being cleared, he breathed deeply and once again entered the Control Room. Without taking notice of the few minor changes which had occurred in the past thirty minutes, he asked what the word was to no one in particular. While Sam was away, Al appointed himself as acting director of the project, a position usually occupied by Donna Elessi-Beckett.

"Judging from the steady decrease in Doctor Beckett's brainwaves, I can confirm with ninety-eight point seven percent accuracy that he is currently drifting asleep," the computer's seductive voice filled the room.

"Al?"

Al turned. It was Verbena. Her concerned eyes wanted to know if he was sure he was all right, if he could handle the contact.

"I'll be okay, Bean," Al half-heartedly assured her, then flashed a thumbs-up. He grabbed an updated handlink spit up from Ziggy's console and cast an eye over to Tina. Al wasn't too surprised to see her still at her position, but at least she wasn't standing as close to King Halitosis anymore.

Well, at least that gave Al some comfort.

Al stepped across the room and followed a slightly-inclined ramp up into the Imaging Chamber and took his usual spot on a little silver disc permanently embedded into the floor while a similar one hovered just inches over his head. Al knew Sam to be extraordinarily bright, but wondered how the certified genius was able to suspend the laws of gravity at all. Closing his eyes, Al told Gushie he was ready and again breathed deeply when he heard the Head Programmer's nasal voice respond, "Affirmative, Admiral."

A collage of images twisted up and around the admiral's body, enveloping him in a cocoon of history. The Korean War flew by his right shoulder; the Cuban Missile Crisis breezed by his right hip; the assassination of President Kennedy seemed to kiss his kneecaps. Bad history, Al remembered. They all stared him in the face, reminding the world of their existence, and then quickly vanished, only to be replaced by other bad events. So much history to fix; with so many lives to change for the better, there was no way Whoever was ever going to let Sam come home.

Assassinations, suicides, homicides, the list goes on. History is filled with the slayings of human beings. That plus the other seven deadly sins.

There's so much to do Sam, too many lives to fix, Al thought.

Al watched the spinning visual Encyclopedia slow down and form one crystal-clear image. One part of Al's mind saw Sam lying in a fetal position against the corner of a small concrete hole while the other part recognized a younger version of himself in the exact position and Al wanted to scream.

The image expanded into an entire scene.

For a moment he just stood there, staring. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigar, unwrapped it and brought it to his lips. After biting off the tip (he remembered to put the piece in his pocket; Gushie had once scolded him when Al had once spit it on the floor) he lit it, inhaled a few puffs and relaxed a little as the sweet savory warmth of the tobacco fill his lungs and was calm before looking at Sam again.

Al then discovered a problem: he couldn't. Sam was shivering, either due his sweat from the climate's humidity dampening his clothes or the fear of the horrible guards who could possibly take his life. Or both. Al felt cold, too, as a sharp chill ran down his spine. Poor kid, Al thought.

As he remained on the disc, he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to open the Chamber's door and leave. He wanted to leave the project immediately. Except that deep in his soul he knew Sam deserved to know who he was and where he was. Al could at least handle that much, couldn't he?

Yes, he knew he could. Albert Calavicci was a strong person. He inhaled another puff from his cigar and breathed out. "Sam?" Al's voice was soft and passionate.

Sam's eyes flipped open and sat then squeezed shut again after seeing Al's glowing attire. "Oh. Sorry," Al said.

Sam rubbed his eyes and sat up, massaging the small of his back. "Where the hell have you been?" he scolded. "I leapt in and this guy jammed this thing in my back," he pointed, "and he was so angry…I hate this place!" He was losing breath out of panic.

"Hey, hey, slow down, Sam. I'll letcha know." Al stuck his cigar between his teeth and danced his fingers on the handlink. Anything to keep busy.

"Al, what are you standing on?" Sam suddenly asked.

Instinct made Al look down. While everything was a hologram to Al, he seldom remembered that he was the hologram to Sam and his surroundings. Even though Al was still in the Imaging Chamber three decades in the future, Ziggy had projected his image too far down from Sam's point of view. His thighs ended at the cell's floor.

"Well, I could shift my image up," Al suggested, "but then my head would go through the roof." He threw his thumb upwards when he said roof.

Sam waved him off. "Alright, Al. Just tell me where I am and what I need to do so I can go do it and get out of this hellhole." He ran a hand through his damp hair.

"Geez, you're a tad sensitive, ain't'cha?" Al acknowledged. When Sam glared at him, Al shrugged. He brought the cigar to his lips and inhaled deeply.

"Al. Please," Sam begged. Al wondered if his best friend could sense his unusual eagerness.

"Oh, first of all you won't be able to 'go do it'" Al showed finger quotes around the handlink and the cigar, "so to speak, since, uh…" He motioned at the walls surrounding Sam.

"Al!"

The sharpness of Sam's tone made Al jump. He tried to cover it by bringing the handlink up and punching some buttons at random. "Ziggy says you're a prisoner of war in Vietnam." Al breathed a sigh of relief. Almost done.

"Vietnam?" Sam repeated.

"Uh, yeah. Hey, you're out of the country again. Remember when you leaped to Egypt? You were on an archaeological dig that-"

"Al, please," Sam calmly interrupted. His head lolled back against the wall.

"Oh yeah. Sorry." Al whacked the handlink, listening to it squeal in protest. "The date is April the sixth, 1970. Soon to be the seventh." Al pretended to look at a watch he didn't have.

"Okay. At least I got the Where and the When," Sam said. "Now how about the Who, the What and the How?"

"We haven't got anything on the What yet," Al explained.

"As usual," Sam muttered, rolling his eyes. Al told him "Ain't that the truth," and went on.

"Tomorrow the Navy SEALs will lead an attack in an attempt to rescue u-, a bunch of POWs." Al shuddered at his near miss. "Unfortunately, it was an ambush." Al was overwhelmed by the urge to scream again when he realized he was not reading from the handlink. He inhaled from his cigar once more as tiny beads of sweat began to pop out on his forehead.

"Was everyone killed?" Sam said, hearing the fear in his own voice and knowing he was currently a POW.

"No, not everyone." Al glanced around. Sam frowned and did the same, trying to find whatever Al was looking for.

Al knew he was definitely stalling and began to wonder if Sam knew it, too. "But Ziggy doesn't believe that's why you're here," he said, not reading this either.

"Al, what is it?"

Al closed his eyes. Well, there it was. Al heard the concern in Sam's voice. Sam did in fact know Al was stalling. Sometimes Al hated Sam for being so smart. Sentences like the one Mr. Smarty Pants had just said could really hit home.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Al played on the handlink and wished he had remembered to bring another cigar. The one he had now was rapidly shrinking to nothingness.

"C'mon, Al. I know you," Sam pressed. "You never stall like this when it's nothing. Is it Tina or someone else?"

"It's not 'Tina or someone else,' Al assured his friend. He wondered how it was that Sam seemed to remember certain details from home considering leaping through time gave him a memory like Swiss cheese.

"Well, what is it?" Sam asked again. His tone told Al that Sam was growing more concerned.

Al finished the remainder of his cigar and stubbed out the butt on the back of the handlink. I'm gonna catch hell from that, he thought, recalling how loving Gushie was to every little piece of the project.

Al closed his eyes and reveled in the remaining warmth from the tobacco. He would not panic. He would not.

"You've leaped into me again," he heard himself say, meeting Sam's eyes for the first time.


	4. Chapter 4 and Interlude

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

For a moment Sam only stared at the hologram, frowning as he pondered over what the man had just said. Leaping into Al was definitely something he would never had optioned for on a voluntary basis, considering the older man's usual behavior. Al's moral standards didn't always agree with Sam's on many occasions and Sam knew that he himself could be stubborn at times. Sam understood well Al's reluctance to cooperate now.

"You?" The word sighed from Sam's lips.

"Well, yeah," Al responded. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. Sam thought he looked as if he might pass out.

"Are you all right, Al?" Sam asked, concerned for his friend's emotional well-being.

"Sure," Al tried reassuring him, which didn't sound too convincing. He uttered a weak laugh which was too high-pitched for him.

"Forgive me for saying so, Al, but you don't sound so sure," Sam pointed out. He noted that Al seemed anxious.

"It's alright, Sam," Al said. "We never really talked about it much anyway."

"Well, no. But I remember you saying it was how you lost your wife."

"First wife," Al added. "She had me declared dead and remarried."

"Sorry."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault," Al told him. "We didn't even know each other then."

"No, not that," Sam chuckled. "I mean for pushing you like that earlier."

Al waved him off. "Don't worry about it." He punched some buttons on the handlink.

Sam nodded. He wasn't entirely convinced that Al had meant "not to worry about it." Al had a tendency to bury his feelings deep inside him, locking them away, throwing away the key then piling his libido on top.

He only nodded and shrugged it off for the time being. Sam had already pushed Al to the limit once and decided not to do it again. Sam may not have a degree in Psychology but he knew when to back off.

Most of the time, anyway.

"Alright, Al, let's just start over," Sam suggested. "You had said something about a rescue mission?"

"Operation Lazarus," Al said. "Tomorrow morning the Viet Cong will transfer the prisoners upriver to Ma Choi…"

"And Operation Lazarus is carried out by the Navy SEALs?" Sam interrupted.

"Yes," Al cleared. "Except that a woman Guerrilla led them right into a trap."

"An ambush," Sam remembered. His mind drifted away. There was something unsettling about this leap. Something oddly familiar.

Sam glanced up and saw Al looking upwards toward the night sky. He followed the hologram's gaze to see the armed soldier who had first greeted Sam at his leap-in peering down into the cell. Al remained frozen, sheer terror spelled across his face, and while Sam's heart was racing, he didn't think he was anywhere near how scared Al must be. After a few awkward moments the soldier straightened up and walked away and Sam began to wonder if "Charlie" had heard him talking to himself. It's happened too many times that he could even count; most people couldn't see or hear Al and Sam was accused of talking to an imaginary playmate. Quite embarrassing for a six Doctorate holding Noble prize winner with and I.Q. near 300, Sam thought.

"Well, technically he was looking at me, Sam," Al stated after Sam had pointed out that the soldier could not see him.

"Anyhoo," Al continued, after glancing up again, "it was an ambush. But none of our boys were killed. Or will be killed," Al corrected. "That is, if things stay the way they are now." He gave Sam a glare.

"I'm here to change something, Al." The feeling of déjà vu was stronger now. He began to wonder if he had been here before but couldn't recall when his life had taken a turn to Vietnam.

"So I must be here to make sure Operation Lazarus is a success," Sam thought out loud.

"I don't think so," he heard Al doubt.

Sam looked up. "Why not?" he asked. "We're prisoners, Al. You're a prisoner. If the attack failed the first time, then we can make it work now. This time," he put in.

"You cannot change it," Al responded.

"Why not?" Sam repeated. "All's I know anymore is changing things for the better so that maybe one day I can go home. That must be why I stepped into the Accelerator Chamber and…"

"'cuz some things not even you can fix," Al exploded. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Look, Sam, it is virtually impossible for you to change every single life on every single day in history. Or just your own lifetime. You may change the life of one person for the better but there's always gonna be another somewhere." Al admired his highly polished loafers. "One person's victory can be another person's downfall," he muttered.

Sam regretted his stubbornness. He had pushed Al too far. Again. He could never possibly understand what Al had gone through, not just in Vietnam but in other areas of his life as well. A lot of people had had their triumphs over Al. "Sorry, Al," he said. Sam hung his head. "Why don't you go back, relax, have another cigar and see what I'm really supposed to do."

"Don't do it, Sam," Al warned.

"What?" Sam asked, surprised as ever.

"Don't try anything," Al calmly told him. "DO NOT try anything when Dawson takes the picture."

"Daw-son?" Sam repeated. The name had a familiar tone. "Who's Dawson?"

But Al ignored him. "Then you'll get me killed. And you're me, so you'll die, too. And Quantum Leap will die." Al closed his eyes and sighed. "We cannot change everything." His voice was barely above a whisper. Sam opened his mouth to say something but the man quickly slapped a button and vanished.

Sam leaned his aching back against the cold wall, staring at the spot his friend had been seconds ago. A mountain of thoughts swam through his mind. He had in fact been here before, but when? And as who? And who was Dawson?

Al had mentioned Dawson taking a picture, which implied she was some kind of a photographer. Yeah, Sam remembered. Dawson. Maggie Dawson. She was a photojournalist with…Tom?

Sam's older brother Tom Beckett had been killed in the war, hadn't been killed in the war. Two sets of memories resurfaced and fought to be remembered. A soldier killed in action.

But not anymore. Sam had been on his unit, saving him from an assassin's bullet. The guerilla Al had mentioned had led them directly in the hands of her own people, an ambush of the worst kind: a traitor's ambush. Pure betrayal, Sam thought.

Sam Beckett had saved his brother, the only casualty of Operation Lazarus. "A life for a life," he muttered suddenly.

Sam sat up. A life for a life, what the hell did that mean? Had someone else gotten killed as a result of his saving Tom? "One person's victory can be another person's downfall." He heard Al's voice echo in his head.

And another: "I'd sell my soul for a Pulitzer."

The photojournalist Maggie Dawson had been killed on the mission, due to her carelessness in a minefield. A mission she hadn't originally gone on.

Sam needed to know exactly how Tom would be killed so he had convinced the lieutenant to allow her access to cover the mission. Sam had hoped that would give Ziggy access to how Tom would die.

"A life for a life," Sam repeated. "An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth."

Maggie Dawson's death was not in vain, nor was Tom's in the original history. The feeling of having him return home had been wonderful. The family had welcomed him immediately with open arms. And Maggie Dawson had gotten what she had always dreamed of.

Her last photograph was of a POW, a man whose face echoed the true feelings of the war, whose eyes cried for freedom and love.

A man who later became Sam's best friend.

Sam didn't know if he was here for Maggie Dawson or Operation Lazarus or not, but he knew he was here for Al.

INTERLUDE

Al had not left the Imaging Chamber yet. When he couldn't find the familiar bluish-white walls, he realized that he had only commanded Ziggy to reposition his image at ground level. He was disoriented by his emotions for a few moments but the memories brought it all back.

Al now found himself in the POW camp surrounded on all sides by five lighted shacks and a moonlit forest. Half a dozen iron cages were cleverly built right into the ground.

Turning around, Al came face to face with the armed soldier he had seen earlier coming straight towards him. The man's eyes were fixated on Al's and Al forced both arms up in surrender, dropping the handlink. His heart seemed to thump right through his chest as he pleaded for his life. Instead of shackling him, the guard marched right through him.

Hologram, Al reminded himself. Everything is just a hologram. "Nozzle," Al spat at the guard. "That was a cruel joke," he told Whoever.

Al still observed the camp for his own comfort, checking to see if anyone else seemed to be watching. After reassuring himself there wasn't he picked up the squealing handlink and stuffed it in his pocket.

"Is everything alright, Admiral?" he heard Gushie echo all around him.

"A-Okey, Gush," Al said. He allowed his curiosity lead him around the camp.

Al stopped dead in his tracks at the first cell he came to, his jaw dropping. His brown eyes became saucers as they looked at the man lying five feet below him. His heart sank with remorse. He felt as if he would throw up.

Al had once known this man quite well.

How could I have forgotten him? He wondered.

Al kneeled down and wondered if there were any way he could be there, if it were possible to overtake the entire camp and free these men. His hatred for the Viet Cong rose to an all-time high and Al began to grind his teeth until they hurt.

He looked down at his once-good friend and his heart cried for him. "Paul, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "If I could do it again…"

Would he really change things? Could he find the compassion to truly forgive someone? Al wasn't sure. Too many things in his life told him no. Movement caught his eye and he looked down to see Paul awake and looking up at him. Al grew excited. "Paul, can you see me?" he asked.

Paul gave no indication that he could; he only continued to stare at the sky and notice how free every star was.

Paul Walker, a man Al had graduated with. A man whose friendship with had ended with a fight and a punch.

The POW! heard 'round the world.

Could he find the compassion to truly forgive someone? The thought raced through his mind as he pulled out the handlink. "Well…" he muttered, "I gotta go talk to myself." He opened the Imaging Chamber door and left.


	5. Chapter 5

(Author's Note: My sincerest apologies for neglecting this story for as long as I have. I suppose that when I begin something I am obligated to finish it. I would also like to add that this story is a complete work of fiction and I have no idea what soldiers really went through, especially those who were held as prisoners of war. Also, the game 'Loyalties,' as mentioned in chapters six and seven is of my own creation. And now, without further ado, please enjoy the continuation of POW.)

CHAPTER FIVE

"We're soldiers, Paul," Lieutenant Calavicci had once told Lieutenant Walker in 1969. "It's what we fight for is what we gain. Sometimes at the expense of what we lose," he added, hanging his head for his friend's benefit.

"You're a coward," Paul informed him, then had thrown a perfect right hook into Albert's jaw. The punch had hurt like a sonofagun, had even slammed him back against the lockers, but not as much as it hurt to lose a good friend.

Albert Calavicci and Paul Walker had been the best of buds for many years; the two had been inseparable in the orphanage, pulling pranks on Headmaster Hilda with her hideous hide and three inch nails and later sneaking out late at night for a cola and without a single care. The boys stuck up for each other more times than Albert could even count and Paul had even vowed to help save Trudy from the asylum as soon as they got out of the orphanage. However, with less than a month to go Paul's aunt had been located and had come to "claim responsibility" for him. He had been there for seven years, officially assigned to by the state after his parents had been killed in an automobile accident. They had been struck by another driver who had been distraught and drinking after losing his entire family in a house fire. "He was mad about losing his family, so he had to take mine," Paul used to explain to Albert. Though their friendship was truly a brotherhood, Paul didn't believe Albert could understand what he felt.

Then in 1969, Albert had returned from a tour of duty in Vietnam, only to agree on another just four months later. Beth had nearly left him then but felt it was unfair to divorce a man going off to war. Two weeks before shipping out Albert had run into Paul about to ship off a few weeks after Al. The pair had spent the evening in the barracks just talking about the old times, laughing at those good ol' days and catching up with the new. Albert's younger sister Trudy hadn't survived and Paul had been so sorry not to have been there. He had been married for nearly eight years, with six of them spent apart on different assignments and Paul informed him that he, too, would have soon celebrated eight years of holy matrimony; that is if his wife hadn't left him for another man immediately after Paul had left for Vietnam the first time. The war had put a tremendous amount of pressure on the Walkers' marriage, that plus the previous drama in his life Paul had left undisturbed. At that moment Paul had taken Beth's side and erupted on Albert for his "thoughtlessness" toward his wife.

"You're not the only you in the world. Though it seems you would have it that way," Paul had scolded him.

"I love my wife very much, Paul, just as I'm sure you loved yours," Albert gently stated.

Paul had begun to pace rapidly back and forth, breathing deeply and clenching his fists over and over. He stopped just inches in front of Albert and stared the other lieutenant in the face. "I loved my wife very much, Albert," Paul breathed on him, "but my duties as a soldier got in the way."

Albert couldn't believe what he had just heard. "You're a soldier, Paul, a hero in the name of freedom," Albert reminded him.

Paul scoffed and looked away. "I'd do it all over differently if I knew then what I know now."

"Paul?" Albert still couldn't believe these words were coming from a fellow soldier. Paul Walker was hurting, the emotions piling up so high in him and nearly choking the life out of him. Destroying him. Rotting him. Albert had only been with him for five hours but knew there was a lot more that Paul had been through in the last seventeen years.

Albert cocked his head and eyed his friend carefully. "I remember you telling me that you had lost your family and you didn't think I could understand that. But I do."

Paul looked at him, staring.

"My mother ran off with an Encyclopedia salesman," Albert told him. "My dad died of cancer, even after I prayed my heart out every day for five months that he wouldn't. And Trudy…" Albert hung his head and sighed, knowing he couldn't continue.

"If you know it, then why do you continue to leave?" Paul demanded.

"We're soldiers, Paul," Albert told him. "It's what we fight for is what we gain." Then he added for Paul's benefit, "Sometimes at the expense of what we lose."

Paul had then called him a coward and punched him with a punch that even Albert, a Golden Gloves boxer, would have been proud of.

"Al, are you all right?"

Al blinked and saw Verbena staring up at him still standing on the disc. He could hear definite concern in her voice, saw worry in her eyes and felt an uneasiness slide all around him. Will it never end?

Al marched down the ramp, past the Project Shrink and up to the console. "Gushie, schedule a Waiting Room session for me, please," he said, tossing down the handlink. He heard Verbena's heels come up behind him.

"Al, what are you thinking of doing?"

"Just what needs to be done," Al told her. He signed his name to a list Gushie held out for him then traveled down another corridor with Verbena chasing after him the entire way.

"Al, I must warn against this-" Verbena started.

Al faced her. "About what? Look, Bean, I can handle talking to myself." He had to stifle a laugh as to how this sounded.

"Al, the shock to the system from seeing one's future self can have serious devastating results to the system, both physically and emotionally speaking," Verbena stated.

"I've done it before," Al said as they reached the mirrored door to the Waiting Room. He looked at her reflection standing just behind him, silently observing the Observer.

"It's just that, considering all you've been through today I'm not entirely sure this is the best thing right now," Verbena said.

"Really, how bad can it be?" Al asked, throwing her a wink. "It's me!" He slid his thumb across the security pad and the door whooshed upward in an instant, allowing him entrance. He stepped in, listening as the door shut again and breathed deeply. It wasn't in his best interest to appear curt to anyone, even Verbena Beeks, it's just that he wanted to be alone with himself and his own thoughts right now.

And his "other self."

Lieutenant Albert Calavicci was sitting on the edge of the table, observing the room, fascinated by the glowing bluish-white walls and the throbbing pulse humming from them. Familiarity crept into his eyes as the older Al casually strolled over to him, offering his hand. The almost thirty-six year old man shook it and Al immediately was dumbfounded as to why he had done such a thing at all. It's not like he had ever done it before with someone Sam's traded places in time with.

"How ya doin', kid?" Al began.

The younger man glanced around again, his eyebrows frowning as he did so. "Have I been here before?" he asked.

"Actually, yes," Al told his self. "It's all sort of a personal redemptive, this-is-your-life kind of experiment."

"Wow," Albert whispered.

"Wow, indeed," Al smirked. "That's a pretty good word for it."

Albert stared Al in the eyes, squinting as if trying to find something. "I do know you, right?" he asked.

"More than you know," Al said.

Finally a light dawned in the lieutenant's eyes. Or maybe it was Sam's eyes. Or maybe even somehow both. Time travel was very confusing to rationally explain. In any case Albert/Sam grinned wildly with an exasperated expression. "Uncle Jack!" he exclaimed.

Al smiled. "Oh boy," he said.

Bingo.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

The image on the photograph was burned into his memory.

Sam mentally pulled up the picture of Al, once a soldier in a devastating war and now his best friend. He recalled the sorrow that was spelled out on the man's face as he was a prisoner of war, the lines of weariness and sadness after knowing that there was a possibility he would never see Beth again. The haunting image of loneliness as he had stared into the camera lens and seemed to cry out, What is it all for? Is my life a sacrifice for some greater cause?

The photograph taken by the late Maggie Dawson had indeed won a Pulitzer Prize, after "trading in her soul," as she had once put it. Sam recalled the leap to Vietnam, distinctly remembered the changes he had made, some unfortunately not for the better, and had seen first hand what a soldier was truly willing to fight for. A soldier's heart always beats to the tune of freedom.

Sam leaned against the wall, ignoring his aching body as he understood his friend more. He had a greater love for Al, the kind where one shines in your eyes and every time you see him, you have a whole new respect and admiration for him. He smiled. Al Calavicci was a good man, far more than Sam could even remember realizing before.

But despite all of these qualities, Al Calavicci was also a troubled man. He had been through a lot in his sixty-plus decades of life, had suffered many setbacks. Sam knew he would probably never know exactly how many, especially concerning the situation at hand. Sam Beckett had never been a military man himself but he could understand that being a soldier wasn't always that easy. Especially when one had to leave their whole lives behind for a lengthy period of time, not knowing if they'll ever come back. So many soldiers, too many wars, and every one with a heart of courage, if not to mention gold.

A faint sound of sniffling filled the silence just then. Sam looked around, startled by the sound of a man weeping and glanced out into the hallway and into the darkness of the cell across from his own. He guessed he could probably understand why the man was crying but being who he was and what he did for a living, he decided to offer any kind of assurance he could.

He leaned over against the door's iron bars and closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Here we go, he thought. "Hey, are you all right?" he tried.

The man choked on his tears. "Why do you care?" he threw back. Sam could hear definitive anger in the man's voice.

Sam breathed again. "I do care. A lot," he said. And it was true.

The other man snorted, and then laughed weakly. "After last night?"

Sam frowned. Last night? He wasn't here then. He wished Al was here to tell him what had occurred the night before between him and…whomever this was. Sam needed a name but he knew that if his host was supposed to already know this man, he couldn't come right out and ask him for a name, could he? He decided to play out another angle.

"Well, things were said last night that we all may regret," Sam began, "but that doesn't mean I still don't care." He figured that it was good enough.

"You told me it was all my fault, that it's what I fought for is what I would lose," the man stated.

What he fought for is what he would lose? Is that what Al had once said, even as a soldier himself? Sam could hear hatred in the man's tear-stained voice and wondered how Al may have really hurt him. Al did once have quite a violent temper himself, Sam remembered. Maybe at the time hurting others was all he knew how to do in order to deal with his own self.

Sam leaned even closer, his cheek pressing against the bars. "Look, I may have said some things last night, but I am sorry. Truly I am," he said with utmost sincerity.

"I'll bet," was the reply.

Sam hung his head, wondering just exactly what had actually occurred last night between the two men. "Al," he heard himself mutter before he could stop himself.

"Oh yeah, I'll bet you're pleased with yourself."

There was a lot of hurt in the man's voice, not just from the war. This hurt was old, harboring in him for a long time. Sam decided to play the part as he thought Al may have. "What is it do you think you have lost?" Sam tried.

A loud scoff was shot back at him. "Only my whole life. Paul Walker, man of nothing," he said matter-of-factly.

The moment he heard the man's name, a light lit up in Sam's soul. He had determined already that he was indeed here for Al, but he now realized that this leap was for Al, that Al had a chance to put right what once went wrong.

********************************

"Are you sure you're not Uncle Jack?" the lieutenant muttered, staring at a different reflection in the mirror.

"Yes, I'm sure," Al reassured him. He cast a grin at his younger self.

The lieutenant continued looking in the mirror, fascinated and a bit perplexed by what he saw. The image of Sam Beckett, a man he did not know and will not meet for another decade or so cautiously stared back at him, mimicking his every move. Lieutenant Albert Calavicci winked, Doctor Sam Beckett winked; Albert nodded toward his right, Sam nodded to his left; Albert raised his left arm, Sam raised his right arm. Both men smiled at each other in unison.

"Pretty comical, eh?" Al remarked.

Albert looked at him. "This is all like a weird version of déjà vu. I mean, it's like I've done all this before but I can't even remember when."

"It's the Swiss-cheese effect," Al told him.

Albert frowned. "Huh?"

Al cleared his throat. "It's the holes. Like a piece of Swiss cheese. This experiment does that to your memory and we can't figure out why. But don't worry; everything will eventually come back to you."

"Eventually?" Albert scoffed. "And in the mean time, I'm stuck with a reflection that's not my own in a glowing room with humming walls talking to a man who looks like my uncle. Well, what next?" he demanded.

Al crossed over and sat on the edge of the table. "Next we play 'Putting Right What Once Went Wrong.'"

Albert's eyes widened. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is a man named Paul Walker."

Albert's eyes widened even larger. Al was suddenly thankful that this part of his memory was not entirely wiped out.

"You're friend, right?" he asked.

Albert turned away. "Friend? That's a joke. Friends don't hurt?" He reached up and rubbed his jaw as if he had just received a harsh blow. Al did the same thing, recalling the blinding pain Paul had inflicted on their friendship, physically as well as emotionally.

Al stood up. "It wasn't his entire fault. After being through so much, it was all he knew. See, he thinks it's easier to live with the hurt he's been dealing with by 'spreading it around,' so to speak." Thank you, Verbena, he thought.

"Well, he's done a fine job of that!" Albert shot back at him.

"You don't even know all he's been through, and I couldn't even begin to tell you. But I do know that a friend isn't just someone you like to spend time with and hang out with every Saturday night." He glanced down at the mirror, seeing the image of Sam wrapped around a younger version of himself. "A friend is a brother, one who would be with you for life." His voice croaked. "Someone you would share things with." He cleared his throat. "And share in his own life, too."

Lieutenant Calavicci turned to look at him, a light dawning in him. Suddenly he did begin to understand. Maybe it was because he had opened the door to his heart and let the words come in or perhaps it was because they were, in fact, the same man. In any case, Albert suddenly understood everything despite his temporally-diminished memory. Sure there was still a lot he wouldn't understand for many years but it was enough for now.

Al cocked his head slightly. "Do you remember what you said to Paul right before he hit you?"

Albert remembered. "'It's what we fight for is what we gain. Sometimes at the expense of what we lose.'"

"I had reminded him of what he had lost and all those feelings finally came up in one punch," Al muttered.

Albert frowned. "What happens to him?" he whispered.

Al stared into the other man's eyes, seeing fear in them. "He dies of unexplained circumstances in three weeks."

Albert took a step forward and placed his hands on Al's shoulders. "Then it's not too late. Please let me change this."

Al hung his head. Closing his eyes, he asked his younger self how much he remembered a game the VC called 'Loyalties.' He opened his eyes after a few awkward moments of silence. The look on Albert's face told him that he remembered it quite well.

"Listen…" Al began.

And the two men huddled together in a glowing room with humming walls ten stories beneath the surface of the New Mexican desert.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

"No matter what happens or how Swiss-cheesed your memory gets, just concentrate on one thing: Paul. Know he is hurting. Know he is broken," his older self had instructed him earlier. "Just remember that no matter what he's saying, know that he needs his brother."

Now as Albert stood in what was referred to as the Accelerator Chamber, Paul's emotions descended upon him. The punch, the feelings of being betrayed by a friend, the hatred, the game of 'Loyalties,' the awful war itself; none of it seemed to matter anymore as he thought about Paul. He and his Self had had a clear heart to heart about the other lieutenant's life. He loved Paul and cared for his emotional well-being very much. He knew he could forgive.

The Accelerator Chamber boomed and vibrated all around him, reverberating the atmosphere and pounding through to the very essence of his soul. White smoke billowed up, surrounding Albert in a dense cloud as his arms and legs were lifted through the fog, defying the laws of gravity itself. He was suddenly pulled and pushed at the same time and he found himself floating through a thick mass of nothingness. "Remember Paul," he heard himself mutter, his voice more pronounced and deeper somehow. He concentrated on those two words as his mind was filled with other memories returned and left, returned and left, returned and left…

He blinked and saw himself in a locker room, stuffing some personal belongings into a duffel bag. Another man stood at a locker next to his own, sorting staring at what appeared to be a wedding photograph. "Paul," Albert whispered.

************************************

"Remember Paul," Al muttered under his breath as his younger self left the compound. This particular Leap had been a long time coming in the life of Admiral Calavicci and also Paul Walker, a man who could begin to live again. Or at least live, period.

And with any luck, it could be over within the hour.

"Gushie, get the Imaging Chamber online, please," Al called out.

"Already in progress, Admiral," Gushie replied, handing Al the handlink. Al grabbed it and marched up the ramp. He began to ponder over his new memories, trying to get used to the idea that they had always existed and the old memories never have. Time was weird, he thought.

APRIL 17, 1969: NAVAL OFFICER'S QUARTERS; LIEUTENANTS ALBERT CALAVICCI AND PAUL WALKER'S CONFRONTATION

"How long have you and Beth been married, Albert?" Paul asked him hotly.

"It'll be eight years in June," Albert proudly stated.

"But you've spent more years apart," Paul said, recalling an earlier conversation. The two men had spent the evening together, discussing the good ol' days and filling each other in about recent times.

Albert shrugged. "Different assignments," he said.

The pair of lieutenants were about to be deployed for a second tour in Vietnam, Albert himself had volunteered his duty, the effects of which had nearly ended his marriage. Paul Walker, whose own wife Cindy had left him not a month after his first deployment and had married another man she had had an affair with during her and Paul's engagement, was upset with Albert for his apparent thoughtlessness concerning his own marriage.

"Why don't you care about your own family?" Paul wanted to know.

Albert steamed. That last statement was uncalled for. His memory was full of holes and as he struggled for recollection, he remembered Paul was torn up inside, being eaten away by all he's been through in his life. Sometimes hurting others is all's he knows how to do to ease his own sufferings. To just "mow right over" the pain. He took a deep breath and swallowed.

"We're soldiers, Paul," Lieutenant Calavicci told Lieutenant Walker. "It's what we fight for is all we can gain, not just for ourselves but for everyone. He eyed Paul carefully, feeling the intensity between them. "It's the soldier who fights for the freedom that others have."

Paul stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the lockers. "Would you care to elaborate on that, please?" he asked.

Albert sat down, closing his duffel bag. "We have freedom, Paul. Freedom to worship, freedom to vote, freedom of speech and to assemble. Hell, we even have the freedom to bear arms and make our own decisions. Those noz-," Albert quickly cleared his throat. Paul may be divorced but Albert still wanted to respect any feelings Paul may still have for Cindy. He continued. "Them others," he waved a hand in the air," still have the same freedoms we all have. And as a soldier I am willing to fight for that all in the name of Freedom. I love Beth very much, Paul. She's the world to me. I want her to live in a pretty great world, a world where she can be as free as anyone could ever hope to be. I want her to have the freedom to live her own life, too." He hung his head. "Even if it means her choosing to leave me, too."

Paul straightened up. "You're willing to die for that?"

"Well," Albert chuckled, "I hope she doesn't ever. But I care for her too much for her not to have the freedom to choose."

"Cindy was free to leave me," Paul said, tears welling up in his eyes.

Albert walked over and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know, Paul. Sometimes it seems that people make the wrong choices. Or abusing the freedom we fight and die for just so they can have what they think will make them happy. But soon Cindy'll realize what she had and what she lost. The choices we all make will become our destiny."

"And if Beth ever leaves you?"

Albert swallowed hard. It was a scary thought indeed. One he'd thought about a lot since agreeing to go back to war. "I'll just know that I fought for the freedom she was given. And Freedom is the greatest gift I could ever give her."

A tear ran down Paul's cheek. "We're soldiers, Albert," he said.

"Brothers," Albert corrected him.

APRIL 5, 1970: BAMBOO HUT SOMEWHERE IN THE FORESTS OF VIETNAM; TWO AMERICAN SOLDIER-BROTHERS ARE FORCED TO PLAY 'LOYALTIES'

"You may not care what may happen to yourselves," a gruff, heavyset Vietnamese man said, "but your own guilt may get the better of you for your fellow mate." He locked the chains securing the two men to the wall. "To know where your loyalty stands, maggot, is needed." He walked away, laughing. "Twenty-four hours. Sleep tight, boys,"

He called, slamming the door and locking it tight.

Lieutenants Albert Calavicci and Paul Walker stood in the dark, windowless room manacled and surrounded by thick, rusty chains. The men had their arms raised and knew they could lower them at any time. However, this event would start a reaction among the maze of chains which would eventually lead to a heavy sandbag weighing nearly a hundred pounds being smashed into the other's face. It was a true test of strength and loyalty if there ever was one.

"Albert, save yourself," Paul grunted, breathing hard. "Save yourself."

"Paul, don't," Albert ordered. "We're gonna get through this."

"You have your wife…life. Me? I'm finished."

"I also have my best friend," Albert groaned.

"It's what we fight for. Freedom. Right?" Paul declared.

"And each other," Albert stated.

"And each brother," Paul said, a slight smile revealing itself in his words.

In the original history the former best friends, once trickster-buddies in an orphanage and now both lieutenants in the United States Navy had continued their heated debate about one's apparent thoughtlessness toward his wife well into the night, their arguing growing so loud that the Vietnamese soldiers standing outside started to move away, laughing the entire time. The punch Paul had thrown at Albert a year earlier, the POW! heard in the world of these two brothers, had escalated into hatred so deep that both men gave up everything they had ever meant to each other then. Paul had even yelled that he no longer had anything left to fight for then Albert had thrown a "punch" back at him, screaming, "An eye for an eye!"

Now, in this new history, in a better timeline created by a man who had buried a lot of hatred in himself for a long time, had learned how to respect and forgive. He had learned to truly love again. An emotional sandbag was lifted from his own heart as his younger self found the strength to hold on, to just hold on.

"We're soldiers, Paul," Albert whispered. "It's what we fight for is what we gain."

"I'll fight for you," Paul said.


	8. Chapter 8 and Epilogue

CHAPTER EIGHT

"So you see, Sam, it was that single punch that sparked hatred so deep it escalated from there," Al said.

For the last hour Al had been speaking nonstop, filling Sam in on every little detail that had occurred since Ziggy had so rudely awoken him.

"This Leap wasn't for me, I knew," Sam told him. "It really was for you."

"Yes." Al discovered he now had no trouble looking Sam in the eyes. Plus, he realized that he wasn't as desperate for a cigar anymore. In fact, he could probably go without one for another few hours.

But for the rest of his life? Hey, let's be reasonable.

"I got the chance to fix things for myself," Al went on.

"All by yourself," Sam pointed out.

Sam leaned back against the wall, wishing desperately beyond hope to stretch his screaming muscles if even for two seconds. He knew he would be out of here any moment now and that he was not here for anything having to do with Operation Lazarus. Maybe some things aren't meant to be dealt with.

Maybe Quantum Leaping is more about personal redemption.

"There's this whole deal with the dream I had, Sam," Al interrupted.

"What dream?" Sam asked, eyeing the man carefully.

Sam listened intently as Al explained the dream Ziggy had awoken him from earlier, about how he was back in Vietnam as a prisoner of war being tortured and beaten and how it had seemed so real to him at the time. "To tell the truth, I haven't dreamed about 'Nam in years. It's just strange that I should dream it now since…" He broke off, motioning to Sam's surroundings.

"One for the books," Sam said.

Al studied the handlink for a moment, slight confusion spelled across his face. "Uh, Sam, I don't understand all your technical jargon and computer mumbo-jumbo." He glared at Sam. "You know, you could have given Ziggy a much simpler vocabulary." Sam grinned. Al whacked the side of the handlink, listening to it squeal in protest as usual. He tapped in some codes, ordering Gushie to "tone things down" a bit. After a minute he replied, "Basically Ziggy's saying that it's because you and I are 'neurologically in sync." He beamed proudly.

"'Neurologically in sync,'" Sam repeated.

"Yeah. It's a Calavicci-ism," Al winked." Since you've become me, at least on some level, I sorta became you on some level, too. I'm a part of Quantum Leap, too, ya know! Neurologically speaking, that is."

Sam relaxed his shoulders. "So, anyway, Al, what happens with Paul?"

"Better than ever, now. In the original history, he became a casualty of war, though nobody could determine an exact cause of death. Probably of a broken heart," Al whispered, and then cleared his throat. Anyway, he's got a long road to recovery to go but he starts a support group that helps a lot of soldiers deal with post-traumatic stress syndrome."

"He's a good man," Sam stated.

"Thanks to you," Al told him.

"And you," Sam said.

Al peered in on Paul, sticking his head right through the wall in the process. Sam groaned, and then Al came back. "Sleeping like a baby."

Sam stared at Al, a whole new admiration forming. "Thanks, Al."

Al smiled. "You're welcome, Sam."

Sam glanced over at the next cell, the sun beginning to rise and casting a dark blue light over Paul's form. "He's gonna be alright."

"He had something worth fighting for," Al said, watching Sam exit in a blue aura of light.

EPILOGUE

Al stood on the terrace on the surface of Project Quantum Leap. It was nearly midnight and he was enjoying the night scenery, the beautiful canvas of the sky with millions of stars shining so brightly, beckoning to him, echoing their endless years of existence. A few even streaked valiantly across the heavens, running through a vast expanse of freedom. Or perhaps fighting for it.

"Brave little guys," he muttered.

Al had enjoyed his time spent in the military. The days spent training, even the years spent as a prisoner of war had meant something to him. It reminded him that there was indeed something worth fighting for. He had found a second home in the military, brothers and sisters he had cared for so deeply he would never have hesitated for a second to die for them if it had come to that. Fortunately it hadn't yet unfortunate that many others were not so lucky. Al continued to stare at the sky. Maybe that's what the stars were, he wondered. Permanent memorials written across time and space for those heroes who fought so bravely for what they cared for.

"Al?"

A woman's voice startled him. He turned to see a familiar face. Hi, Donna," he greeted.

She came over to him, holding a small brightly-wrapped gift under her arm. "Ziggy said you were up here." She glanced at the stars. "Beautiful night, isn't it?"

"How's Jamie Lee?" Al asked her.

Donna smiled. "Oh, couldn't be better. Their youngest son is starting college in the fall so they'll be going through the 'Empty Nest' syndrome soon." She hung her head. "Children are a joy, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

Donna sighed then spoke again. "Actually, the real reason we got together was for you."

"Me?" Al asked, flabbergasted.

"Yes. Jamie Lee has a friend whose sister's boyfriend works for one of the committees for the Nobel Prizes." She handed him the gift. "It's a little late for your birthday and a little early for Christmas, but never too late for a good friend."

Al took the gift in his hands and clutched it to his chest, admiring the orange wrapping with white triangles and black squares and blue circles. Donna chuckled as it blended perfectly with his shirt. "I love presents." He eagerly tore through the box and pulled out the gift. "Oh boy," he uttered.

It was an eight-by-ten photograph of a younger version of himself staring at the camera, that which what he was willing to fight for so deep in his eyes. It was framed in bronzed with the words WELCOME HOME AND THANK YOU! engraved below. A smile formed on his lips.

"It won a Nobel," Al croaked, swallowing a lump in his throat. He hugged it tightly. "Thank you," he whispered.

"And thank you," Donna said.

Al took her hand. "Would you like to know about a real hero?"

Donna leaned her head back slightly, her eyes glistening in the starlight. "I would love to," she told him.

Al once again thought over his new memories, firmly sketched in his mind over the old ones. It had indeed been a long time coming for Albert M. Calavicci but even someone like him had learned to forgive.

He casually led Donna over to some chairs. "Well, the story begins with my days at the orphanage. My best friend was this other kid named Paul Walker…"

THE END

*I have based everything from memory of the show itself. If I have made any mistakes then I accept full responsibility. Hats off to Donald P Bellasario for creating such a uniquely intriguing and challenging television program.

*This story is dedicated to all of the brave men and women, those_ heroes_ who all fight in the name of freedom and to the memory of those who never made it back home. Your bravery was never once fought in vain. Eternal thanks to you, Jeff


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